


Exceeding Beyond Limitations

by accol



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Hand Jobs, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-23
Updated: 2012-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 22:02:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accol/pseuds/accol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Nathaniel’s voice dropped into the tone Godfather had heard him use on his men in the platoon. Pitched slightly lower, it gave him authority despite his boyish looks as he told the man to strip. His words were quiet, and their guest had to concentrate, strain to hear them. He appeared unable to look away from Nathaniel’s lips.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exceeding Beyond Limitations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LilredLFC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilredLFC/gifts).



> Written for the [Oorah Porn Fest](http://generation-kill.livejournal.com/778865.html?thread=10545265#t10545265). Based on fictionalized portrayals in the HBO miniseries Generation Kill. No harm or infringement intended.

Nathaniel’s voice dropped into the tone Godfather had heard him use on his men in the platoon.  Pitched slightly lower, it gave him authority despite his boyish looks as he told the man to strip.  His words were quiet, and their guest had to concentrate, strain to hear them.  He appeared unable to look away from Nathaniel’s lips.    
  
Godfather smiled approvingly from his armchair.  Nathaniel’s bare chest flushed but he otherwise didn’t react other than to pull the man’s head back by the hair sharply.  He was panting in Nathaniel’s grip.  
  
Against their guest’s cheek, Nathaniel whispered, “Onto your knees.”    
  
There was still a trace of Nathaniel’s gentleness underneath it all.  Nathaniel was pulling him in, giving him barely a taste, making him strive to please just so he could have another soft word of praise.  Godfather found this analytically interesting, an insight into Nathaniel perhaps, since he generally seemed more motivated by pushing himself to the limit than by Godfather’s platitudes (as infrequent as they were).  Some part of Fick wanted to be hard and emotionless in an attempt to be a more capable Marine, but he was too smart.  Godfather would never let him give that up that kernel of vulnerability.  
  
The other man slipped down to the wood floor, whispering “Yes, sir” obediently.  The light from Godfather’s fireplace licked at his skin, showing his growing erection where it jutted from between his thighs.    
  
Godfather watched the deep rhythm of Nate’s breathing.  He took his time with the man under his fist, waiting for him to shift with discomfort and eagerness, Nathaniel’s dick heavy and only inches from his undoubtedly watering mouth.  Godfather felt the juxtaposition of Nathaniel's youth against this man's graying temples solidly in his cock.  It was goddamn gorgeous.  
  
Nathaniel crouched down in front of him, knuckles white as he tightened his hand for a moment.  Then he released it and stroked away the ache, carding his fingers through his curls.  This was like SERE: an interrogator befriending a captive to bend them to their will.  Here, however, safewords were in play.  
  
“Eyes on me.  Do not look anywhere else.  Do you understand?”  
  
He nodded.  Nathaniel rubbed the head of his cock against the man’s lips, his cheek.  “No tasting,” Nathaniel said when the tip of his tongue came out to wet his lips.  His mouth snapped shut immediately.  
  
Nathaniel knew all of Godfather’s rules.  There was no need to spell them out like this, and their scenes were much more efficient as a result.  Nathaniel could drop into the right headspace at Godfather’s first word.  If Stephen wanted, he could give one of those commands right now and watch that switch flip in Nathaniel’s mind.  He could have his boy between his knees in seconds, mouthing at Godfather’s erection as it pushed against his zipper.  
  
Instead, Godfather palmed himself and watched Nathaniel transform into something more.  
  
“Touch yourself,” Nate ordered.  “Slowly.  Just a finger and your thumb.  That’s it.  Slow.”    
  
Nate’s shoulders were back, his ass tight, as he stood over him.  His dick bobbed right in the man's face, tempting him, showing him what he hadn’t earned.  Godfather had given his boy permission to touch and to be touched, but not far beneath the surface he hoped that he wouldn’t.  
  
“Stop,” Nate said quietly.  “Give me your fingers.”  He lubed the man’s fingers and raised an eyebrow.  The command was unspoken but clear.    
  
The man’s breath hitched as he sat back on his own fingers, his cock twitching as he tried to go deeper, to do it better because Nathaniel had ordered it.  Nate’s cock was still temptingly close to his mouth.  His lips had fallen open, but he didn’t lean forward.  The strain in his muscles was obvious as he held himself back.  Nate stroked a hand through their guest’s hair again in reward.  Then Nate ran a palm down his own dick.  Godfather mirrored the motion, realizing that he was as taken in by this as their guest obviously was.    
  
A strangled moan emerged from the man.  He was bouncing on his hand faster.  
  
“Now stop,” Nate said quietly, rubbing his cock over the man’s lips again.  “Jack yourself with your weak hand.  Leave your other hand where it is.”  
  
Nathaniel’s plan was becoming obvious.  Self-inflicted orgasm denial, fully under Fick’s control.  Godfather grinned.  He leaned forward to put his elbows on his knees.  His own cock could wait for his boy.  
  
“That’s it,” Nate said.  “Come on, a little faster now.”    
  
Their guest was panting.  His hot breath must have been tickling Nathaniel’s cock, but he didn’t show any signs of relenting.  Godfather knew that feeling, the one of having a man under your influence, of taking him somewhere that pushed his limits of pleasure, of showing him something that he’d never experienced.    
  
Nate’s hand was in his hair again, stroking through it slowly, half-time to the man’s pumping fist.  Nathaniel looked up at Godfather, his eyes wide and his lips slack for just a moment, taking in Godfather’s approving expression, his intent interest.  Then he was back to their guest.  
  
His fingers tightened in his hair, pulling up, forcing the man to kneel high.  “Hands stop.  Out.”    
  
The man whimpered as his hands dropped to his side.  Nate pulled his face close, burying his nose below the V of his abdominal muscles, into the crease with his thigh.  The man took heaving inhales of Nathaniel’s groin, fists clenching and unclenching at his own hips.  Nate was stroking him again, now down the back of his neck.  
  
“Excellent work,” he said quietly.  Nate fisted his cock, stroking himself slowly, knuckles rubbing against their guest’s cheek.  “Use your strong hand now, and stroke just over the head of your dick.”  
  
It took only a handful of strokes before he was gasping into Nathaniel’s skin.  
  
“Stop.”  Nathaniel pulled away.   His fist was still circling his cock, pulling at it lazily, in complete control.  Again, the contrast between Godfather’s boy and their guest was beautiful.  Godfather sat back in his chair and unzipped.  Nathaniel’s eyes purposefully did not look to Godfather this time, holding back on his own temptation.  Godfather smirked.  This scenario was a taste of orgasm denial for all present.  
  
“Should I leave you like this?  Make you watch the fire while I get fucked?  Your ass clenching when you hear our skin slapping together.”  
  
“Sir--”  
  
“Shhh.”  Nathaniel stepped closer again, still jacking himself.  “Or maybe I should come on your face first, and leave you here with the order to keep your goddamn mouth shut, tongue behind your teeth.”  
  
Jesus Christ.  Godfather was going to have to encourage Nathaniel to do this more often.  The filth coming out of his pink mouth was pushing Stephen toward the edge of squirming.    
  
Nate’s hand started moving faster.  The head of his dick pushed against the man’s full lower lip, leaving behind a glistening streak of precome.    
  
“As many fingers as you can get, fuck them into your ass,” he hissed.    
  
The man groaned, sitting back onto three, trying for a fourth, stretching himself open wide.  He flinched at the push.    
  
“Now jack yourself.”  
  
“Yes,” their guest whispered.  
  
“Stop,” Nathaniel said sharply.  
  
The man groaned.  His inhale sounded like a sob.  
  
“Go again.  Get your fucking fingers in there deep.”  
  
He threw his head back, but Nate forced it forward again.  Nathaniel’s knuckles dragged over his lips with every stroke.  
  
“Eyes on me,” Nate said.  “Don’t close them.”  
  
Deep lines had formed at the corners of his eyes where he’d squeezed them shut.  Now he forced them open again, breath erratic, sounds of desperation in his throat.  His skin was covered with sweat.  The head of his cock was shining, skin stretched taut over the swollen, oversensitized head.  Nathaniel kept making him stroke his hand over that head, over and over.    
  
“Stop.”  The single word came out through Nathaniel’s gritted teeth.    
  
Loud and tortured, their guest cried his frustration.  His hands trembled at his sides.  
  
Nathaniel let go of his cock too.  The foreskin was pulled back taut, and Godfather wanted to run his palm over his boy’s length.  He wanted to fuck into him and let him come for being so fucking good.  
  
Two long, centering breaths were what Fick needed to compose himself.    
  
“You’ve been so good,” he whispered.  “Stand up.”  
  
He followed orders.  His knees had gotten stiff, and he pitched forward.  Nathaniel held his shoulders and guided him upright.  Their cocks brushed together and the man let out another gasp, his knees weakening again.    
  
“Lock your knees and put your hands on my shoulders.  Watch my eyes.  That’s right.”  
  
Nate closed his fingers around their guest’s cock.    
  
“I--  I can’t--”  
  
“Yes, you can.”  Nathaniel said, voice soothing.  His hand moved faster.  The man’s fingers dug into the muscles of Nate’s shoulders.  Sweat beaded on his forehead.    
  
Nate was just inches from his face when he gave permission for him to come.  Nathaniel drank in his stuttered breaths, his moans of ecstasy.  He caught him beneath his arms when his legs unlocked, cock still throbbing with his orgasm, eyes never leaving Nate’s just like he’d been told.  
  
He laid their guest down on the rug in front of the fireplace, cleaning him up and covering him with a blanket.    
  
“Very, very good.”  
  
“Nathaniel,” Godfather said.    
  
“My turn,” Nate smiled at their guest.  He crawled over to Godfather’s knee, his cock eager between his thighs.


End file.
